


beacon

by nebulia



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Anxiety, Augmentative and Alternative Communication, Autistic Link (Legend of Zelda), Canon amnesia, Cartography, Community - Freeform, Cultural Differences, Everyone Knows Sign Language, First Kiss, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Kissing, Link (Legend of Zelda) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, M/M, Making Out, Philosophy, Politics, Rough Kissing, Selectively Mute Link (Legend of Zelda), Sensory Overload, Sign Language, Size Difference, Stimming, The ongoing apocalypse, Video Game Mechanics, Worldbuilding, accessibility, also video game mechanics explained away, everyone has PTSD, link deserves a cute lantern to hang from his bag like all the other hylians get, sidon's a millennial worried about climate change, the sheikah slate as an aac device, there's a lot of talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22140301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulia/pseuds/nebulia
Summary: [“If you feel lost,” Sidon says, and Link looks up into his gold, earnest eyes. Often he can only manage to look people right in the eyes for a momentary second before, inexplicably, ithurts, and he has to divert to their nose or eyebrows, but his gaze holds Sidon’s for long enough that not even Link can mistake his sincerity. “If you feel lost, know that you are always found here. In Zora’s Domain. That—Iam always happy to find you, my dearest friend.” ]A night and a day in Zora's Domain.
Relationships: Link/Prince Sidon
Comments: 32
Kudos: 401
Collections: TWT FIC REC CHAT





	beacon

**Author's Note:**

> Timestamp: nebulous, given that there isn’t really a canonical order of events, but after Link has defeated Ruta & Rudania and at least visited Kara Kara Bazaar, Gerudo Town, & Rito Village, but before he’s recovered at least the Irch Plain, Hyrule Castle, Lake Hylia, and Spring of Power memories. He does have the East Lanayru Gate, Ancient Columns, and Hyrule Field memories for sure, but his understanding of his and Zelda’s relationship, and Zelda’s character, isn’t complete. 
> 
> marion is the hero who betaed this and saved it from absolute inanity.
> 
> This fic arose out of the concept of the Sheikah Slate as an AAC device because it's a fucking tablet holy shit imagine if Link could use it to WRITE when he's non-verbal!!!!! and...then somehow it became almost 16,000 words of cultural exchange, cartography, world-building, talky boyfriends nonsense. Anyway let me be free of it
> 
> as always if you think i've missed a tag or need an additional content warning, please let me know

Initially the Sheikah Slate only had a typing input, for notes, perhaps, in the Sheikah alphabet, but Purah did something with her Guidance Stone and a machine cobbled together with ancient tech, a couple of rusty shields (“The nice ones just didn’t work as well”) and wire, and when she was done the little Sheikah rune in the corner of the slate’s screen was in modern Hylian instead, and when he touched it, a series of icons, each a familiar rune, was lined up in four neat rows along the bottom of the screen, a space for input left above them. “You never liked to talk much,” she said when she handed it back to him. “Does this help?” 

Back then, only a couple of weeks after he’d woken up, he didn’t know much about himself—the Link he was now, the Link-that-is, though he knew even less about the Link-that-was a hundred years ago—but he knew that he preferred to not talk. That he worried about his ability to convey what he meant so much sometimes his heart would pound when he was standing still. He knew that beyond the anxiety of misspeaking that seemed to be inherent in the back of his mouth that talking itself was hard sometimes. Sometimes, more rarely, _listening_ was hard; the sounds coming out of people’s mouths a strange, indecipherable jumble he knew he should be able to understand, that usually he could understand, but mostly it was just _his_ mouth that made indecipherable jumbles, words that made sense in his head turning into sharp little pebbles in his mouth. 

He knew how to talk with his hands when that happened, knew it as easily as he knew spoken Hylian, and when someone spoke to him and even _their_ words were sharp rocks instead of words, they could look at his confusion and reply with their hands too. But hands were busy sometimes, holding weapons and shields and reins, and sometimes Link’s hands only wanted to flap and flutter instead of sign. It was easier, for some reason, to convey his meaning with hands instead of his mouth, but even still the anxiety of speaking wrongly would well up in him sometimes until his hands shook too badly to form shapes. 

For Purah to give him an alternative, and one where he could sort through the jumble of words and feelings and knowledge and figments of memory that tumbled through his head as he worked, instead of having to spit it all out at once—

—For the first time, Link had felt like maybe Link-that-was and Link-that-is maybe aren’t as far apart as he feels like they are, if someone who knew Link-that-was thought this will help. 

He nodded instead of saying any of that, and then tapped on the runes painstakingly. _Are there—_ He shook his head and Purah helpfully pointed to a left-pointing arrow on the side of the screen. Tapping it erased what he’d written. _Did Zelda leave notes on here?_

Purah frowned and grabbed the slate again, tabbing through it much more quickly than Link had. “She might have, but—“ She frowns, and then hands it back to him, shaking her head. “If she did, they were corrupted badly enough that they couldn’t be repaired. And they’d all have needed to be translated from Sheikah alphabet, anyway—before this she wouldn’t have been able to input anything in Hylian. I’m sorry, Linky.” 

He shrugged. It had been worth asking; it wasn’t like he’d lost anything new. 

Most everyone understood him when he signed, and could sign back. Some people couldn’t hear at all, like Pruce and Ivee in Hateno or Rivan and Dunma in Zora’s Domain, or the former Champion Revali, and it was how they spoke, but most everyone knew it and used it. In Kakariko, Dorian used it to speak while his daughters slept. At the Dueling Peaks stable, Rensa used it when he was out in the fields with Link, telling him which horses were ideal to tame and which Link should avoid. But Link’s signs weren’t always the same now--the language had moved on and Link’s hadn’t. There were gaps in communication when repetitive verb forms were similar or he spoke with signs that were no longer common. While there had always been a little bit of regional difference in signs, now they were distinct dialects, sometimes nearly unintelligible to Link, though he was picking them up. Being able to type on the slate helps fill the gaps.

Even when he’s alone and speaking isn’t a concern, the little notepad on the slate is helpful. He uses it to jot down notes, favors people ask of him, tips they give him for treasure, the curious little rhymes Kass seems to have in every desolate corner of Hyrule and always seem meaningful even when he doesn’t understand them, directions, both the ones Pikango gives him to Zelda’s memories, and just regular ones to get someplace new—which are crucial especially before he manages to activate a region’s tower. He gets faster at typing. 

Warping to a shrine is easier than days of travel, but without the security of a region’s map, it’s both a blessing and a curse. Often Link prefers overland travel, where he can get a better sense of the land, discover shrines or settlements he doesn’t know about, and can scavenge for food and ore he can sell, especially as he journeys to and from Akkala while he takes stock of its looming tower, tucked behind Guardian Skywatchers high in ruins. And the shrines themselves, while capable hiding places, are eerie, especially once the monk has moved on. The passage of time feels wrong within them. They’re empty and hollow and infinite, and they scare him a little bit. He likes having them when he needs to move quickly, but traveling by foot has its own perks. 

As he goes to Akkala, trying to make his way past the flying Guardians that patrol the base of the Akkala tower, he finds himself warping to Zora’s Domain and heading north from there more often than not. They can pay him handsomely for most things, the Seabed Inn is better even than his own (free) bed in Hateno, and the cooking pot is covered and therefore doesn’t go out when it’s raining, a rarity on this side of Hyrule and unheard of at stables. He has friends elsewhere—Koyin in Hateno, Jana at the South Akkala stable, Garini in Lurelin, but not even in Kakariko does he have so many as he does in Zora’s Domain. People who treat him as something other than the Hylian Champion, as a being as flawed and frustrating as any other. He likes stopping there to stock up before he either heads north via the waterfalls and Tora Pond or warps to the shrine above the lake. Lake Akkala, he thinks, but...no map yet so he can’t be sure.

It took awhile for the shine to wear off, for the hero worship to fade, but drag an elk carcass into the Seabed Inn and start butchering it in front of the cookstove one too many times and now Link is just...Link, showing up at Ne’ez Youma shrine smelling like something died on him (because usually something did), and Kodah and Bazz and Maron all run interference before he can bleed too much in the middle of town. 

More than anything, it’s probably a logical consequence of the shrine being literally in the center of Zora’s Domain, and the Domain itself being largely waterway and connected to the local and crucial water table. Therefore, when Link shows up needing a bath or rest or to cook before he fucks off again to do something unwise, he is both immediately obvious and an immediately urgent problem to solve. A beloved problem, but a problem nonetheless. Still, though. It’s humanized him in a way he hasn’t managed to become elsewhere, especially once he’s been recognized. 

And also, it seems that while everyone is happy to fawn over him when it’s quiet, when it’s busy it seems the solution to the problem of Link showing up—often carrying a large dead animal and occasionally covered in the Malice monsters seem to have instead of blood—is to get Sidon. 

At first it seemed excessive, or maybe an appeal to their friendship, but after Sidon carries a Link covered in still-steaming Hinox guts like a Cucco straight to the baths _along_ with the water buffalo he took down on the way to the shrine, he can acknowledge Sidon, being head and shoulders taller than every Zora other than the King, is also uniquely equipped to handle Link _and_ sundry. 

Sidon is busy, too. Sometimes Bazz has to practically hold Link at spearpoint so he doesn’t step off the shrine platform and contaminate the water with Malice or blood for almost half an hour. Sometimes Sidon leaves while Link’s soaking in the baths and they don’t get a chance to speak until the next morning. But he always, always makes time for Link. 

The first time Sidon had to leave a council session to handle Link, who was covered in the sludge Fireblight Ganon left behind, Link apologized. Sidon had been carrying Link above his head, only his hands touching him, as he sprinted down a waterway to the nearest baths—not even the royal family baths Sidon usually escorts Link to. But Sidon had stopped completely, lowering Link down so he could look him in the eyes. 

“ _Please_ don’t apologize,” he said, and looked even more sincere than he usually did. “Spending time with you is the most fun I’ve had in decades.” 

Sometimes Link imagines it: being the Crown Prince of a region that is being slowly choked to death by chaos magic. The longer he’s awake, the more obvious it becomes. Trade routes and resources and visitors dwindling, and living long enough to watch it happen in real time and know there is nothing you can do to stop it. And then catastrophic flooding that threatens the last stronghold of your people. An apocalypse happening in slow motion. And Sidon’s seemingly indefatigable positivity throughout it all. 

_I can shriek louder_ , Link signed. 

Sidon’s teeth flashed as he lifted Link back above his head. “Please do, you’re getting the Blight muck on me.” When he got to the royal baths, he threw Link, fully clothed and laughing, into the biggest pool, and laughed himself when Link spat water at him. 

—

The day he finally manages to climb Akkala tower after two failed attempts and three weeks of trying to survey his options, he warps straight from the tower to Ne’ez Youma. In Akkala it’s storming, and he’s soaking wet and freezing cold and nearly fried, hair still standing on end from a lightning strike too close for comfort. It’s still raining in Zora’s Domain, but it’s considerably warmer and it’s not a driving thunderstorm. It’s well after dark, so the first person who sees the travel gate light up is Sidon, the glowing pink dots of bioluminescence lit up along his browridge and dorsal fins, keeping his usual vigil at Mipha’s statue, and his face, already delighted as he jogs down the steps to the shrine, lights up more as he sees Link is more or less clean and unharmed, just soaked through the bone. His smile is as good as the sunshine. 

_I activated the Akkala tower!_ Link signs. _Look!_ He pulls out the slate, holding the map out. He’s already been to most of the places indicated, but to see them on the map is an achievement in itself. And he hasn’t been back to the Spring of Power since he came over the ridge and saw the Guardians there and fucked back off. There’s still work to be done. 

“Wow,” Sidon says, examining the map. “Link, this is incredible! The detail of this map—“ he leans in so close his browridge bumps the slate. “Oh, goodness, I’m sorry.” 

Link shakes his head, pulling up the notepad on the slate. _You can look_ , he inputs, before tabbing back to the map, and Sidon does, bending himself in half so he can get in close to the slate. 

“We don’t have any good maps anymore,” Sidon says. The pad of one large finger carefully moves the map on the screen. “Link, may I draw part of this? The roads would help us a lot, for Lanayru and Akkala and Necluda. I could set aside some time tomorrow morning and you could be on your way in the afternoon—“ Link sneezes violently. “Where are my manners? You’re wet and cold. I’ve _been_ to Akkala, I’m sure it’s storming there.” 

Link nods, and sneezes again. 

“We can talk later,” Sidon says. “Come on, you need a bath.” 

—

Sidon doesn’t bring it up again until Link’s eaten some sort of cooked snail and raw crab dish Sidon scavenged from the kitchens and is defrosting in the warmest spring in the royal baths, tucked privately behind one of the falls in the domain and carved from a deposit of luminous stone. “I was saying in the shrine room,” he says, “If you wouldn’t mind postponing your departure until the afternoon, I could use your slate to make a copy of the roads. I know you’re busy, but it would be so helpful—“ 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” Link says. “Not urgently. I guess eventually I need to go to Hyrule Castle.” Sidon laughs and Link feels like that alone makes him warmer. His tongue feels relaxed with sleepiness and contentment and privacy. “You can take it. I was going to get some food and some ore, or maybe go to Robbie’s lab.” He blinks up at Sidon, who’s sitting on the floor next to the spring, examining the slate with impossibly careful hands. “You draw maps?”

Sidon shrugs, rubbing at one of the fins on his tail. “A little,” he says. “One of my tutors was a cartographer. He was teaching me geography, and some history, but taught me a little about map-drawing. But he died forty years back or so, when a Hinox took out one of the villages downstream, so I’m all we’ve got. We used to keep some of our frequently-used records in the throne room, so we lost most of the maps when Ruta started—there was so much rain so quickly that places we kept dry flooded before we realized. We moved everything up into our archives in the belly of Lord Jabu-Jabu, above the throne room, because that space is enclosed, but all our surviving maps are out of date even to the Calamity. But this one is up to date, from what I can tell. None of the old Zora villages are on here, and the Akkala Citadel is labeled as ‘ruins.’” He peers down at Link. “Are you _sure_ you don’t mind?”

“I’m tired,” Link says, which doesn’t quite sum it up. “And I need to stock up.” 

“Hmm.” Sidon looks down at him, and, careful of his claws, brushes the pad of his thumb under one of Link’s eyes for a moment. His skin is just slightly coarse out of the water, somewhere between suede and a cat’s tongue. It’s a pleasing texture to Link, just enough sensation to make his skin spark but not so much that it makes him itch or ache, “You look like you have bruises here,” Sidon says. “But when Hylians have bruises, the bloodflow sounds different, and it doesn’t here.” 

“That’s being tired,” Link says, though he’s not entirely sure how he knows that. “I think.” He rests his cheek on his folded arms and closes his eyes. There’s been an ache behind his eyes for days and in the base of his spine, one that needs more than sleep. Link needs a dark, quiet space where no one talks to him. Where he doesn’t have to hear or see or touch or smell or taste anything he doesn’t want to. 

Sidon moves suddenly, and a moment later the room dims, noticeable even through Link’s eyelids. “Better?” Sidon says, and when Link opens his eyes Sidon’s covered the luminous stone lantern with a heavy oilcloth, letting only the walls themselves light the room. 

There’s tension draining out of Link that he didn’t even know existed. _“Yes,”_ he says fervently, and Sidon reaches out to smooth some of his damp hair out of his face. His skin is cool. For being as big as he is, his hands are absurdly gentle, and Link sinks into a heavy, sleepy contentment almost immediately. His hands flutter a little, like he’s trying to say _thank you_ , but he suddenly doesn’t have the energy to say anything else. 

Sidon laughs a little. “You’re welcome.” He works to keep his voice low. “There’s a guest bedroom next to my quarters for visiting royalty,,” he says. “You wouldn’t have to go back up to the center. Or talk to anyone. There’s a waterbed in it. The Princess used to stay there, when she came to see Mipha. Would you like to stay there tonight? You’ve surely earned the honor—“ Link’s nodding before Sidon finishes speaking. “Oh! Then it’s settled.” His hands go away, and Link makes a little wanting sound. “I’ll be right back! I’m just having a servant prepare the room.” 

Link wrinkles up his nose but waves him off, not opening his eyes. He hears Sidon speaking quietly at the door and someone who sounds like Laflat replying and then he’s back, his huge hands cool against Link’s warm skin, pressed against his cheeks before sliding back into his hair. “Okay?” he says, and scritches a little, very gently, with his claws, and Link hums in pleasure.

“It’s weird,” he replies, surprising himself when he doesn’t just say _yes_ , and then again by how easily the words come. He wasn’t even thinking of anything, or didn’t know he was. “Vah Rudania made life hard for the Gorons, and Vah Medoh and Vah Naboris aren’t doing much better for the Gerudo and Rito, but Vah Ruta is the only Divine Beast that was an imminent threat.” 

Sidon makes a humming sound of his own, half knowing and half frustrated. “We suspected as much,” he says, his thumbs rubbing circles on Link’s temples. “Zora’s Domain is much closer to the castle than Rito Village or Gerudo Town, and Death Mountain has its own power, for better or worse, that Calamity Ganon has to counter. Ruta was the most vulnerable. And Zora’s Domain is the only settlement left for the Zora. As far as I know, the Rito are similar, but while they prefer to suspend their homes, in theory they can survive in Hylian-style homes on the ground. They aren’t amphibious, like us. Our geographic limitations meant that once Ruta overfilled the dam, those of us who survived would be unmoored. Certainly it would be the end of our current civilization, and very possibly the end of our race. We’ve never had a large population, but even so, the last hundred years have thinned us still more. It’s possible, between the dam breaking, the flooding, and the resulting unsanitary conditions, that we would have been wiped out.”

Link opens his eyes, and looks up at Sidon. His hands haven’t stopped, but he’s looking into the wall above Link, deep in thought. “I know the Rito have sacred attachment to their home, too,” he says. “Lake Totori is holy for them as much as the Domain and Lake Ruto is for us, and leaving would be devastating. But on a practical level, they would have an easier time finding a geographically appropriate new home than we would. If the Princess’ hold on Ganon in the Castle is weakening, the Zora were a good first target for destruction.” 

“Sidon,” Link says, surprised at his candidness. 

Sidon smiles. “I know everyone likes to talk about how _spiritual_ we are,” he says. “But I'm the Crown Prince. My _job_ is practicalities. Something like Ruta’s flood was enough to end us.” He looks down at Link, who belatedly realizes his mouth is open. “Did you think I was exaggerating?” he says, wry. His thumb sweeps across Link’s temple, not massaging, like before, but almost a caress. 

Link shrugs. _Didn’t know what to think,_ he signs after a moment. _I was starting to suspect, but._ He doesn’t know what else to say. 

Sidon’s naturally exuberant; Link’s spent enough time in the Domain to know it’s not just Link he gets excited about. It’s not that Link didn’t believe him when he said he thought Link was incredible or amazing, that he’d singlehandedly saved them from certain destruction, but his enthusiasm is unwavering. 

“I suspect that the elders don’t consider it as much as my father does, and certainly not as much as those of us who are young do,” Sidon says. “It’s easy for your perspective to narrow when you only have one or two decades left of your natural life left, but those of us who were young during the Calamity—we have one or two centuries, if not more. My father sees the big picture by nature of his own lifespan, longer than many of our species, and also by his position as king. But most of the elders don’t have the luxury of his perspective. When the end of your life is imminent, you think less of others and more of yourself.” He laughs a little. “That’s Father’s line, at least.” He runs his hand from Link’s temple to the ends of his damp hair. “I’m sorry. This isn’t a cheery topic.” 

“You don’t,” Link says, and sits up a little more straight so he can sign more clearly. _You don’t have to always be cheerful._

“I won’t ruin your digestion just before bed,” Sidon says primly, as though that is relevant. “You’re listing, anyway.” 

Link realizes he _has_ leaned into Sidon’s hand somewhat significantly. _Sorry_ , he signs, sitting up. 

“Don’t apologize,” Sidon says. “I’m sure Laflat has had your room prepared. She’s efficient.” 

Sure enough, when Link has climbed out of the spring and dressed for bed, Laflat’s waiting for them outside the baths and walks with them down a corridor to rooms below the surface of Lake Ruto, opening a door to a bedroom dimly lit with luminous stones. His gear has already been deposited, and there are extra blankets and a couple furs on the bed to ward against the chill. It looks unbearably inviting, and Link stumbles toward it without thinking, climbing in before he realizes what he’s done. He has to shift awkwardly to get his baldric with the Sheikah slate off, but the bed is warm and he’s not getting out now. 

Sidon and Laflat are at the door still, both hiding smiles with their hands. “Shall I cover the light for you?” Sidon says, the laugh in his voice betraying his magnanimity. 

_Please,_ Link signs one-handed, and Laflat actually giggles at him. 

“I’ll take my leave then,” she says. “Good night, Prince Sidon, Master Link.” Link waves, and Sidon thanks her, and then he smiles back at Link, fond and full of gentle humor.

“I will cover the light, though,” he says, and reaches for the heavy cloth hanging from the luminous stone lantern. “Sleep well, my friend.” 

Link yawns, pulling the furs up. One of them might be the water buffalo he brought last time, actually, and his heart squeezes to think Sidon, a _prince,_ found it useful. _Good night,_ he signs, even more lazily, and he’s asleep before Sidon actually covers the light, his gentle laugh quiet in Link’s ear. 

—

Link wakes up mid-morning. There’s some sort of strange magic, or weird Sheikah tech residue, or something, on him that means he doesn’t really _need_ to sleep, though he certainly feels better when he does. He struggles to sleep out in the wilderness at all, but he sleeps all right in a bed, if he’s on one side, and the blankets weigh just the right amount, and light and temperature is just right--well. A lot of variables have to fall into place, so perhaps it’s good he doesn’t really need to sleep. Fortunately, the guest room in Zora’s Domain hits all of Link’s body’s requirements, and he feels well-rested for the first time in a long time. 

When he and Sidon emerge into the public areas of the Domain, the sun is out in a way that makes Bazz say to Sidon, “No rain today!”

 _How do you do that_? Link signs as he trots next to Sidon, who is gathering leather and ink and pens and paper and parchment and a straightedge from various places in the Domain, the throne room, the general store, the archive room in the Lord Jabu-Jabu above the throne room, Sidon’s room. _I can tell it’s going to rain in the next couple hours. Sometimes. But not all day._

“Weather patterns aren’t the same as they used to be,” Sidon says. “If you learned how to predict the weather from the patterns a hundred years ago, it’s not the same now. Something about the Malice, I think.” He taps his browridge. “I don’t know how Hylians tell, but Zora can sense electric fields—so we can tell a thunderstorm when it’s growing from a long ways off. And we can feel and smell the differences in air pressure and humidity. I don’t know any metrics for it, but I know that the way it smells today, and the way I can’t feel any static electricity, and the way the air pressure feels—usually that means it’s not going to rain all day these days.” He smiles sunnily down at Link. “I thought I’d go out to East Reservoir Lake. It’ll have good light, it’s out of the way, and my desk is covered in Ruta flood recovery paperwork. You don’t have to come with if you don’t—“

 _I want to come,_ Link signs. _I want to watch you. I can’t go up to Robbie’s without the slate, and…_

“And what?” 

It’s selfish, Link thinks but doesn’t say. Now that he’s not drooping with exhaustion, his words the night before feel callous and self-centered. His hands flap helplessly and he grabs the tablet. _I want a day off,_ he inputs, and stares at it for a long time, holding it so Sidon can’t see it. Not that he’d look without asking. 

“Link?” There’s a line just below Sidon’s browridge, a little worried furrow in his skin. 

Link swallows. If Sidon can be all right with Link overhearing him spill late night insecurities to his dead sister’s statue, Link can show him this shameful, selfish thing. He hands the tablet over. 

“Calamity Ganon isn’t going anywhere,” Sidon says quietly, once he’s read. 

Link makes the sign everyone uses for Zelda, the Triforce sign pressed against the heart.

“The Princess will not give up because you took one day to rest,” Sidon says. He touches Link’s cheekbone. “It still looks like you have bruises.”

_Ruta—_

“Was more urgent than Calamity Ganon himself has been in a hundred years,” Sidon says. He puts all his materials in a sling bag and turns to Link, taking his hands—just briefly, as always, before releasing them. “If you die of exhaustion before you free the Divine Beasts or get to Hyrule Castle, you will only be of use to the carrion. An important role in the circle of life, undoubtedly, but you are meant for more than that first.” 

Link bites his lip. “Rest isn’t selfish,” Sidon says, hushed and urgent. “It’s _necessary_. This isn’t a battle. It’s a war. I know you haven’t been awake for a hundred years, but listen to us who have been. We learned this lesson, painfully.” He gestures to the Domain. “You cannot only fight. Not a war of attrition like this one. The Princess will not begrudge you.” His eyes, luminous and golden, bore into Link’s, and Link holds his gaze, marveling at how easy it is to maintain eye contact when he’s well-rested. “Come with me,” Sidon says again. “You’re very welcome. It’s a beautiful day.” He quirks his lips in a wry half-smile. “And you have to make sure I don’t break the slate anyway.” 

Link cracks a smile, because despite his words Sidon handles all small and fragile items with an easy delicacy that belies his large hands and claws, and nods, and Sidon smiles back at him. “Onward, then!” he says, pointing east, and Link jogs to keep up with him. 

—

Sidon unrolls a goatskin’s worth of parchment on the smooth ground under the pergola at the reservoir, weighing the corners down with smooth stones and an inkwell, and placing a stained, ancient map next to it. It’s labeled _Hyrule As Known_ , and dated to almost two hundred years prior; there are fewer bridges in Zora’s Domain, neither Akkala Citadel nor Lurelin Village is marked, and there are only a handful of stables, mostly around Central Hyrule. The western side of the map is only a faint likeness of reality, Gerudo Town and Rito Village marked, along with Tanager Canyon and Satori Mountain but little else. The roads are more detailed around Zora’s Domain, but not much, and there are points labeled in a sketchy spiral out from the Domain that Link doesn’t understand, until he leans in and sees that they’re settlement names. Ralis Mussel Farm. Wishtown. Upland Village. 

Sidon blunts his thumb and first two claws with a sandstone before he begins—”My claws get in the way,” he says, in response to Link’s sound of surprise, smiling. “I often just write with them—they take ink quite well—but for detail like this pens are better.” He grids out the parchment with a pencil first, making small markings with a compass and referring back to both the slate and the old map often. He explains what he’s doing to Link as he goes along, apologizing for his lack of depth on the philosophy and theory regularly. “My tutor only taught me the practicals, mostly for fun,” he tells Link. “But that’s enough to copy a map. The Slate’s small, so I’m using the older map for scale and basic geography and topography.” 

Link leans in, pulling up the slate's notepad. _Question_ , he types. _You mentioned Zora villages, and I can see them on the old map, but I haven’t seen any ruins._

“We destroyed them when they became uninhabitable,” Sidon says. “Both to recover any luminous stone we could, and to make sure there was nothing left behind for the monsters to use. Of course they get weapons on occasion, but we didn’t want to give them ready-made encampments. And while there are significant stone deposits around the Domain, and sometimes we can head up to Ulria Grotto, you may have noticed Ledo’s always worried about replenishing our stock.” He lifts a wry eyebrow at Link, who laughs at the understatement. “We can’t trade or travel to the other luminous deposits in Hyrule anymore, so if our deposits run dry, we would struggle to make crucial structural repairs. Though it worries him much less now that we’re not being flooded out, and we have you bringing them in every time you visit.”

Link nods, pretending he’s not blushing, and tabs back to the map for Sidon, holding the slate for him so it’s easy to see when he looks up. 

“Thank you, my friend,” Sidon says, and picks up his pencil again. “You’ve been where a few used to be. That spot along the Zora, just before the Bank of Wishes, where all the Lizalfos have set up? That was a fairly robust town, one we weren’t able to clear up as much as we liked before they moved in, and a family lived up off of Ralis Pond. Upland Zorana had a couple as well. Most everyone lives in the Domain now, though. Or they—“ he smiles crookedly up at Link. 

_Died,_ Link signs for him, and Sidon nods before focusing on the slate again. 

Now that it’s not raining endlessly, East Reservoir Lake is beautiful; serene, tucked amongst the mountains, cliffs stretching up above them. The rocks in Zora’s Domain—not just the luminous stone deposits but the others—are beautiful, black obsidian and pumice and that purple-gray stone that is sometimes glassy as ice. A hawk swoops down and scoops a Chillfin Trout out of the lake. No wonder there’s a bed out here, a whole room. Link sits on one of the stools, which fit his height surprisingly comfortably; Sidon has spread out on the floor instead of trying to fold himself into one. 

“Whose room was this?” Link asks. 

“You don’t know?” Sidon says, surprised. Link shakes his head. “It was Mipha’s,” he says. “When she didn’t want to be too far from Ruta, she stayed here. She had an office, but she hadn’t had her own bedroom; she slept in the communal pools.”

Link lifts his eyebrows at Sidon. 

Sidon rubs his neck, laughing a little. “I, erm, _outgrew_ them,” he says. “I’m too tall, and take up too much space. A guest suite like the one where you slept last night was refurbished for me when it became clear I would outgrow the pools before my final major growth spurt, but it’s not excessively common for Zora royals to have their own sleeping quarters. When Mipha started to bond with Ruta, she wanted to be closer to the lake, and so this space was built for her in mind. There are plans, somewhere—it was designed to be easily remodeled once she hit her final growth spurt, but—“ He looks down, and spreads his hands across the older map he’s laid out on the floor. 

“After she—since the Calamity, I’ve spent a lot of time here, too.” He swallows. “I suppose it’s been mine for much longer than it was ever hers.” He looks out over the lake, emotions Link can’t quantify moving across his face like clouds. Even if that’s true, he hasn’t made it his own. The bed is probably big enough to fit him, but barely; his aigrette brushed the roof of the pergola when he stood. To say nothing of the stools, which of course fit Link better than they would the average Zora, let alone one of Sidon’s height. He never remodeled it, though it would have benefited him. This room isn’t built for a Zora as tall as Sidon, but he’s fit himself into it regardless. 

“S-sorry,” Link mumbles. 

“No!” Sidon says, quite suddenly, and sits up on his knees to grab one of Link’s hands in both of his, though he holds it for only a moment before he lets go, always considerate of Link’s constantly-busy hands. “My friend, _I_ should apologize. I should have remembered your memories are few and far between, and of course you would want to know.” He heaves a huge breath, and then says, “I want to apologize anyway. I’m sorry,” Sidon says. “I wish I could tell you more about—about everything. About Mipha, and the Champions…” 

Link frowns. Snags the slate so he can press the question rune, and nudges him. Sidon’s been remarkably forthcoming with him about anything Link’s asked, about Mipha, about Hyrule, the Great Calamity.

Sidon smiles a little, without any of its usual energy, still looking up at the Divine Beast. “I was young when the Great Calamity happened. If I were a Hylian, I might have been the equivalent of six or seven? I believe that’s the conversion. So I wasn’t privy to discussions, of course, but also I don’t—“ he sighs again. “The healers say that sometimes, when grief happens when you are very young, your memory fades. It’s not uncommon for many Zora my age, especially those of us who lost family during the Calamity to just...not have solid memories of parts of our childhoods, or remember the time at all. Even for some of the slightly older Zora, the guards you knew like Gaddison and Bazz...especially those who fought the Calamity in some context—some of them have almost chunks missing. And so I don’t—I don’t remember much of my sister’s last year or year and a half of life. I know I met you a few times, for example. The guards have teased me for not recognizing you.” He looks over at Link. “But I remember so little. I remember Princess Zelda being there, once…” he trails off again. 

“My sister and I were very close. She was my polestar. And yet I have so few memories of her. And nothing about how she was with you, or about you, or about the Great Calamity. I barely remember her face.” He shakes his head, staring down at his hands. “I wish I could tell you more.” 

Link doesn’t want to think of how he, who barely recollects her, saw Mipha’s face in Ruta, how he catches a glimpse of her every time he gets too close to death, when her brother deserves to see her so much more than he does. He shoves it to the back of his head, ignores it. _That sounds familiar_ , he writes. _Sometimes I remember things. I’ve been able to seek out places—Zelda took pictures—_ He flips to the album quickly, to show Sidon. _I’ve remembered Mipha, a little. But it’s like watching something happen to someone else. Everyone’s had to teach me more than I’ve helped them._

Sidon reads over Link’s shoulder as he types, and when he’s finished, he rests a heavy hand on the nape of his neck, urging Link to turn his head so he can look at his face. Link can’t make eye contact with him now, but Sidon doesn't force him to. “ _No_ , Link,” he says. “Don’t underestimate what you’ve done for us. Not for the Zora, and not for Hyrule. Any information we can give you is worth what you’ve done. And with so little of your memory, you do it not out of duty or responsibility, but out of goodness. Kindness.”

Link smiles wryly. “Boredom,” he says hoarsely. 

Sidon elbows him. “There’s nowhere to go to be bored in this country,” he says. “Stay still long enough and the monsters come to you. So I _know_ you’re lying.” 

Link laughs, surprised, and Sidon laughs too, even as Link starts to type. _I wish I could tell you about Mipha_ , _too_ , he says. _About the Calamity, the battle, anything._ He swallows. _I wish I could tell you and your father if I would have told Mipha yes._

“No,” Sidon says. “Please don’t beat yourself up over that. I know my sister. I know she fought well. I know she wanted me to grow up brave and strong, not just for our people, or for her or our father, but for _me_. She would have told me to live well, and with hope, and mostly, I have. I have—I have no regrets over not knowing her last moments because I know that she was brave unto death, and I know her love for me was unconditional. I’ve never doubted that, Link. Sometimes, when it’s hard, I think I do. But I never _truly_ do.” He smiles at Link, genuine but sad. “As far as your answer...that never would have mattered to Mipha, not the way her making the armor did. She would have wanted you to know the depths of her affection, regardless of your answer. She was reserved, but she was never shy about liking someone. Loving someone.” His smile widens into a grin. “She was _my_ sister, after all. In some ways, we are very alike.” 

Oh, Link mouths. Then he glances up at Sidon. “We met?” 

Sidon’s returning glance is wry. “So I’ve been told,” he says, with good humor. “I don’t remember much. I know I was jealous of you, and wary of the Princess, because I blamed you for taking Mipha away so often.” Link snorts, and Sidon laughs openly. “I was a child, with a child’s worries.” 

He sets his chin on his hands, gazing out over the reservoir while Link deletes the last few sentences he’s inputted on the slate. “I think time, and age, and grief, can kill a child. Or not the child, but who the child was. Who the child meant to be. Before the Calamity, my world revolved around Mipha. My dreams, my future—they were different. Mipha and I would have ruled side by side, probably, splitting the share of ruling duties, selecting a successor, or set of successors, from amongst our respective fry based off interest and aptitude. Ruling is wearying, and a heavy load to carry alone, and no Zora had ruled as long as my father had, and it drained him; it still does. He planned to abdicate when I came of age, or at the latest when I was fully grown, stepping back as a Dowager King and providing us advice and counsel. With the Calamity…my whole world shifted. I had to become someone else entirely.

“Mipha once told me, just before the Calamity, that she believed in me, even if I had to do it alone. I was very small then, but I knew her sincerity to be true. There were whole decades where that was the only thing that kept me going.” He laughs again, self-deprecating. “I’m rambling. What I am trying to say is that the Link of then died even more than the child I was. That you are someone new, with new memories and new needs and new fears. Am I mistaken?”

 _No,_ Link types. _Or—maybe—_ he sets the slate on his lap, to try and sign it, but his hands don’t feel any more capable of the words, and his mouth even less so. He picks the slate up again, and tries. _I guess I don’t know. Maybe I’m exactly the same. Maybe who I am is immutable. Is that possible?_

Sidon laughs. “My friend, philosophers have been fighting about that much longer than either of us have been alive.” He laughs harder at Link’s wrinkled nose. “I don’t know. Mipha didn’t say, when you were in Ruta?” Link shakes his head. The spirits of the Champions he’s met so far have not been forthcoming about Link himself. Not that they’ve had extra time to chat. _Zelda will know_ , he inputs eventually. _She can tell me who I was._

“Does it matter?” Sidon says. “Would you change yourself if she says you’re not the same?” 

Link blinks up at him, mouth falling open. His hands fly up but then he doesn’t know what he wants to sign. Of course he would, because she would know him best. But of course he wouldn’t, because why would he change for anyone?

The words tumble out of his mouth, hands flying as he speaks. For once, he doesn’t want to grab the slate, afraid he’ll think himself out of speaking while he tries to organize his thoughts to type. “What if I was never meant to exist like this? What if what I am now is fundamentally wrong? If I was always supposed to be the Link-that-was and the Link-that-is is just a nothing—I have n-nothing, I have a memory full of holes and after just—just Hyrule, j-just this—this life in the wild. It’s nothing but killing and killing and killing, over and over, and they are trying to kill me but also, they talk to each other, and like to _dance,_ and they tell _stories,_ and I don’t really want to kill them but sometimes I sneak up on them anyway so I can get a weapon or arrows from them or so they won’t attack me first, and sometimes it’s the _same_ creatures I kill—Sidon, I killed a Moblin in Akkala last week, three days after the Blood Moon, and I’m almost certain I killed it just before, too—it had this scar, on its face and—hcgk—“ his voice catches in his throat and he coughs, dry. Sidon hands him the waterskin they brought out with them and Link drinks, gratefully. Clutches his hands around the slate once he’s set the skin down because they are shaking wildly, and not in the way they do sometimes, when they tremble and flap and he feels calmer for it. His hands feel as out of control as his mouth. “I wouldn’t change for Zelda. But I would change if that Link is who I’m supposed to be.” 

“Who is that Link?” Sidon says. 

Link opens his mouth. He doesn’t know, is the problem. Even the memories he’s salvaged don’t seem to tell him anything about himself. They’re not even wholly _his_. Some are at least partially Zelda’s; it’s not just his emotions he feels when he recalls them; but Zelda’s anger. Her frustration. He remembers, more than anything, the conviction he felt that he must control his expressions and emotions, for fear of dishonoring or disrespecting—himself? Zelda? Hyrule? He doesn’t even know. 

He shrugs.

“That’s what I mean, when I said that Link was dead,” Sidon says, almost gently. “Perhaps someday your memories will return, and then you’ll know. But right now—he’s unattainable. He’s not _you_ , or if he is, no one can tell you for sure. But you—you are _wonderful_. Maybe you _are_ only made up of your experiences since you’ve awoken. That doesn’t make you _less_. I think you’re incredible right now.”

Link looks down at the slate. Clenched around it, his knuckles are white. The earnestness in Sidon’s face makes something like fear roil in his stomach. 

“The world changes us,” Sidon says, even more gently. “Sometimes who we were no longer applies. Do you think the Princess will be the same? When she’s fought the Calamity itself for a hundred years?”

Link lifts one shoulder and then drops it. _It’s not as though I’ll know either way_ , he inputs into the slate. 

“Even if you did, would you expect that of her?” 

Link thinks about the Malice creeping up the walls of Akkala Tower. Its eyes blinking uncomprehendingly at him from around every corner. The _sound_ it makes, a low drone that he feels in his teeth more than he hears. The way his whole body eases when he destroys a Blight and it leaves the Divine Beast all at once. Imagines being surrounded by that for a hundred years, trapped and fighting at its source. He shakes his head. 

“Why should she expect it of you?”

Link shrugs again. _I’m._ He erases it and then starts again. _I’m the Champion. The Hero of Hyrule._

“And she’s the Princess of legend, descended from a goddess.” 

_I was only sleeping for a hundred years. Time isn’t the same for me as it is for her. Or you._

“Should that matter? Princess Zelda and I both have our memories. You’re starting from scratch. I doubt she’ll judge you for that.” 

From the few memories Link’s recovered, he’s not so sure. Sidon sighs, reading it on his face. 

“If she doesn’t,” he says, almost carefully, “That is not your fault. None of this is just your fault, Link, and if Princess Zelda or anyone holds you to absurd expectations after what you’ve been through, that’s their problem, not yours.” 

Link drops the slate so he doesn’t break it and it skitters across the floor into the inkwell, sending it wobbling. Sidon makes a panicked noise before moving the slate aside while catching the inkwell before it tips over, steadying it. Link doesn’t look at his face, doesn’t want to know what he’d see there. “Why are you so _nice_ about it?” Link snaps. “I failed! It’s my fault the world’s like this! Mine and Zelda’s! And you’re _comforting_ me!” 

“Do you think we don’t know that?” Sidon says evenly, and Link _goggles_ at him. “Do you think we somehow _missed_ that our home has been crumbling for the last hundred years because the chosen best of our races and the hero and princess of legend couldn’t stop oncoming evil? Do you think that even though the weather has changed and half our people have died and there are no Zora villages outside the Domain, we somehow don’t remember it’s because those we trusted to be heroes were overcome? And why is it only you and Princess Zelda who failed? Should I not be blaming the Hyrulean Coalition soldiers who fought on Blatchery Plain and Akkala Citadel and, aside from you, the Princess, and a few Sheikah, were, to a body, killed? The Hylians killed in Ganon’s blast? All the Champions? Mipha contributed to this failure, did she not? She surely carried some of the blame.”

Link shakes his head so hard his hair whips himself in the face. His hands come up to sign even though he doesn’t know what he’d say. “Why wouldn’t she?” Sidon says. His voice is still even, no anger, but there’s an intensity Link has never heard in his tone, something almost vehement. “Why would she be blameless if you aren’t?” He watches Link open his mouth, and close it, knowing Link has no answer. His face softens. “Unless—unless we all know this. We know you failed. The Princess failed. Our Champions failed. My sister failed. It happened. It changed our whole world, and we keep going because there is nothing else we can do. _And—_ we know you are still our best hope. We know that even in death the Champions continue to fight. We know that the Princess failed to stop the taking of Hyrule Castle, but also that even now, she fights a darkness I can’t even comprehend to give you time. To give _us_ time.” He sets the slate back in Link’s lap, careful to only touch Link’s thighs as much as necessary. 

When Link looks up at Sidon, surprised, he smiles crookedly. “Even the Hero of Hyrule can’t do it on his own,” Sidon says. “Link, you are amazing. I have seen you perform feats of whole armies, and travelers have told us of still more. But you couldn’t have stopped Ruta without me. Even if us Zora weren’t susceptible to shock arrows, none of us could have done it alone, either. No one can swim at that speed and shoot at the same time. You couldn’t have calmed Rudania without your Goron friend. You will almost certainly need the aid of the Rito and the Gerudo to free their Beasts. None of us make it on our own, ever. That’s why there are four Divine Beasts to begin with. That’s why my father thought it better if Mipha and I ruled jointly. That’s not failure. That’s being a _person._ ” 

Link stares at him. His voice is gone completely, the slate in his lap a heavy weight that he might still break if he touches. _I’m. The hero,_ he signs. 

“Even heroes are people. Are members of a community,” Sidon says. “Even they need support.” 

Link? A member of a community? Link, who sometimes is still too tired to cook, even if he doesn’t need to sleep, and so eats the fish he just caught raw? Link, who can’t stay more than a night in a stable or village inn without the sounds and sights and people overwhelming him until he can’t talk and can’t think and can barely _breathe_ until he’s in the wild again, feeling more at home in hundred-year-old ruins and the bones of the people who once lived there than with living people in a real town? Link, who despite feeling more at home in the wild with the bones, can’t sleep there? Link, who bought a house on a whim in Hateno because it was the only house he’d seen thus far that was both intact and secluded, and that he barely returned to because Bolson and his workers were _always_ there, wanting to talk to him when he needed to be alone? He points at himself. His hand is shaking, and to stop it he reaches down to pick up the delicate silver capsule that Sidon told him held pounce, which helps dry the ink. Feels the filigree under the pads of his fingers, avoiding Sidon’s gaze.

“Who bought a house in the village of our nearest Hylian allies?” Sidon says. “Who has a friend in every settlement in Lanayru and Necluda who greets you upon your arrival? Who is beloved by every subject in my people’s domain, even Muzu, who has hated Hylians on principle and _especially_ you for a hundred years?” He reaches out to take Link’s hand in his own, gently urging his clenched, trembling fingers open and taking the pounce pot and setting it aside, replacing it with his own hand. “You have tasks to complete. Just because one wanders doesn’t mean they’re lost.” 

Link _feels_ lost. Even as he travels through regions he’s mapped on the slate, even as he knows his goal and his destination, even though, with a good enough vantage point, the roiling mass of Hyrule Castle can be seen from every corner of Hyrule, Link is adrift. He stares at Sidon’s hand holding his, grip gentle enough that he can pull away easily, and swallows. Shakes his head. 

“If you feel lost,” Sidon says, and Link looks up into his gold, earnest eyes. Often he can only manage to look people right in the eyes for a momentary second before, inexplicably, it _hurts_ , and he has to divert to their nose or eyebrows, but his gaze holds Sidon’s for long enough that not even Link can mistake his sincerity. “If you feel lost, know that you are always found here. In Zora’s Domain. That— _I_ am always happy to find you, my dearest friend.” 

Link swallows again, glancing up from Sidon’s mouth forming words to meet his eyes once more. His eyelids fold into a dark membrane, so dark it seems like he has heavy black eyelashes, making the gold of his irises stand out. “S-sidon,” he says hoarsely, the hand tucked in Sidon’s folding into the shortened sign of his name. It almost hurts to speak. It takes him a moment, the words trapped in the back of his throat before he almost forgets them, but he finally manages to say “Th-thanks.” 

“Truly,” Sidon says, and smiles at him, all warmth and sharp teeth. “Truly, Link. It is my pleasure.” He lets go of Link’s hand. Link lets himself rest his hand on Sidon’s a moment longer, feeling the vellum texture of his palm under the pads of his fingers, before he pulls his hand back and picks the slate up from his lap, leaning forward to set it back on the floor. 

Sidon smiles again, a little more exuberant, and adjusts his aigrette. “Shall we take a break?” he says, reaching for the bag that held his supplies. “I brought some smoked trout and some rice flatbread. I asked a few of the travelers and they said Hylians eat that too. Do you want to grab the water? Are you hungry? Shall we catch a few more fish?”

Link glances in the bag as he passes it to Sidon; if the weight and number of the waxcloth-wrapped packets inside are any indication, he’s brought enough to feed even Link three times over. _If you want,_ he signs at Sidon after handing it to him. _Zora eat bread?_

“A little!” Sidon says cheerfully. “I’ve had wheat bread before, though too much unsettles my stomach. But there’s a lot of rice nearby and Hateno trades with us for it often, or we harvest it wild from the uplands. It pounds into a flour easily, and we cook a flatbread on a heated rock or metal griddle over a fire and can use it as a plate or cutlery when we eat formally aboveground. Usually if we’re eating in the water there’s not much ceremony.” He winks and snaps his teeth, startling Link into a laugh. When he steps out in the sun, his teeth are so white and so sharp that Link covers his smile with his hand to hide his blush. 

They settle on the edge of the dock, feet hanging over the ledge. There is plenty of trout and bread for them both, even with both their appetites, though halfway through the packets Sidon points and says “See that? Be right back,” and then he’s slipping into the water so smoothly there’s barely a splash and he’s five meters away in the blink of an eye, his headfin a smooth ripple in the water. 

Link’s never seen Sidon swim at full speed—the only time Sidon’s moved this fast around him was when Link was on his back, focused on Vah Ruta. He might be even faster now. He vanishes suddenly and then rears out of the water, a Staminoka bass caught in his mouth. When he swims back to Link, he’s moving more slowly, leisurely, fish still between his teeth, looking more like a self-satisfied dog than a Zora. 

_I can’t see like that_ , Link signs as Sidon gets closer. _Not under the water. You saw it from that far away?_ It had to have been ten or fifteen meters out, if not more.

Sidon rolls onto his back, taking the bass from his mouth and licking blood and scales off his lips, still kicking. His pupils have dilated so widely that the whites of his eyes have almost vanished, leaving only a ring of gold iris around the black center. “Zora are taught as children to see how a fish near the surface can change the glint or reflection of the water. My understanding is it’s easier for us to see underwater, and we can use our third eyelid to filter out glare on the water, but otherwise I don’t believe our vision is much better than a Hylian’s. We’re merely trained to use it differently.” He takes a bite out of the bass, still on his back in the reservoir. His teeth snap through the skin and small bones without hesitation, and when he glances back up at Link, a smear of fish guts near his lip, Link swallows. “Would you care for some? I’m happy to share.”

Link eats raw fish, but it’s not to his taste unless he’s actually gotten the skin and bones and intestines out. He shakes his head and opens another packet of the smoked trout and rice flatbread instead. 

Sidon kicks around the water languidly as he eats, and Link watches him. It’s odd, he’s pretty sure, that Sidon calls him _dearest friend_ , _most treasured friend_ , with such ease, and did so even after they’d just met. Certainly since they’ve gotten to know each other better, even well. Sidon is well-liked, even beloved, even by the elders who disagreed so vehemently with him. He has friends, a _fanclub_ , people who would swim all over Lanayru and Necluda to find a Hylian for him. And yet it’s _Link_ who is his most treasured friend? Link himself is probably closer to Sidon than anyone else in Hyrule now—he sees Kass more, but Kass isn’t especially forthcoming about anything other than the riddles he knows and the occasional longing comment about his distant family. 

But still. It niggles at him, even if his understanding of the concept is nebulous and uncertain. Sidon was so quick to lay that title on him, and in all the time Link’s spent in Zora’s Domain, he’s never heard Sidon say it to anyone else. He’s ebullient but candid; he doesn’t bestow such a title on everyone. It’s just Link. 

Sidon rinses his face in the water and hoists himself out onto the dock. The water makes his skin look glossy, slicking away the texture his skin has when dry. He uses his hand to sluice some excess water off his arms and chest, and settles down next to Link again. In the sun, he’ll dry quickly. 

Link picks up the slate. _I have a question_ , he types, and shows it to Sidon. 

“What is it?” Sidon says. 

_You said no one does it alone. That if I felt lost, I could rely on you to find me._

There is a hint of pale pink in Sidon’s cheeks, though maybe it’s just from exertion, or Link’s imagination. “I did!” he says, and puts his hand over his heart. “You can always rely on me, Link.” 

Link nods. _Who do you rely on, then?_ he inputs, and nudges Sidon so he can read the slate.

Sidon sputters, floundering for a moment. “I—“ Next to Link, he sits straight up, posture improving. “Of course no one can run a country alone. Even without a joint rulership with Mipha as planned, my father and I have help from advisors like Muzu, and our council; the Royal Guard—“

Link shakes his head, elbowing him so he’ll stop. _Not the Prince of the Zora,_ he types. _Who do you, Sidon, rely on?_

Sidon looks at him. “W-well—“

 _You called me your most treasured friend,_ Link puts into the slate. _If you can’t rely on a treasured friend, who can you rely on?_

Sidon clasps one of Link’s hands, squeezing it briefly before letting it go. “Link, you don’t need my burdens on top of the heavy load you carry.” 

_Thyer’e not brudesn,_ Link inputs, so quickly he misspells words. _Yuo are my traesrued freibd too._ He shoves the tablet at Sidon in an effort to show his sincerity. Sidon looks down at him, wide-eyed, the dark coloration around his eyelids making his eyes look wider still. He blinks slowly, as if truly surprised Link cherishes him.

“Link,” Sidon says, very softly, before setting the slate aside and pulling him into a crushing hug, one that pulls Link out of his sitting position so Sidon can bring bring him to his chest. Even with Link’s body fully extended, his feet barely brush the ground, but then most of Sidon’s height is in his torso anyway. He’s already mostly dry. 

Link appreciates, has always appreciated, the way Sidon treats him like a person. A person he clearly thinks highly of, a person he’s willing to shower with compliments, but someone who is more than just a hero of legend, more than an idea of a person that Link himself hardly remembers. A person even Sidon got frustrated with, when they fought Vah Ruta. And Link’s internal world is insular. His frames of reference are different than everyone else’s. As time goes on, he’s thought more and more that he’s different, not just because of the amnesia, or the sleeping, but that Link himself is somehow inherently different. And he doesn’t have a framework to even know what that means. 

It never occurred to him that Sidon valued him not just because he saved Zora’s Domain, or helped Sidon himself, or even just because Sidon liked him. But that Sidon valued him because Link treated him like a person as much as Link valued Sidon for the same thing. He wraps his arms around Sidon’s neck and hugs him back. 

“I—“ Link swallows. He doesn’t think he can say it right, but his hands are busy with more important work, and the tablet is out of reach. “I want you,” he pauses to gather himself, and then flails as he realizes what he’s accidentally said, kneeing Sidon in the ribs. Sidon grunts, but Link can feel his smile into his neck, the way he knows Link wasn’t done, his patience. “I want you to rely,” he tries again, and has to swallow once more to finish. “On me, Sidon.” 

“Me too, Link,” Sidon says. “You can rely on me too.” He pulls back. “Okay?” He’s still smiling. It’s different than the self-assured grin he had when they first met, something small and happy and content. “You _are_ my most treasured friend. Even more now than you were after you beat Ruta. Please don’t ever forget that. As long as I am here, there will always be a place for you in Zora’s Domain.” 

Link made a home for himself in Hateno, mostly on a whim. But it doesn’t feel like one yet, really. It’s still mostly empty aside from his weapons in storage, a free bed to sleep on when he needs to recuperate. Bolson and Karson are still around all the time, and he likes them, but he bought the house because it was so far away from people. He hasn’t had the time or the knowledge to find furniture, or even get to know anyone in Hateno other than the Bolson Construction Company and Purah and Symin and Koyin well. It’s a place he can go and be indoors and alone, when the wilds that usually feel safe and familiar seem to be simultaneously closing in on him and expanding exponentially, but even Link, who still sometimes feels feral and claustrophobic around other people, needs a place where he is _welcomed_ , explicitly and exactly as he is. 

“I know there is,” he tells Sidon, which means more than any thanks he could possibly give. 

Sidon’s smile widens. “Good,” he says. He stands and stretches, towering above Link. His jewelry jingles. “I suppose I should finish so I don’t keep you waiting any longer than I already have.” He gestures when Link moves to follow. “No, no, please! Enjoy the sun. Goddess knows we don’t get days like this often, and if you need to head back to Akkala you’ll get them even less.” 

“No, I want to watch,” Link says, and stretches as well. “It’s interesting.” 

There’s a hint of a pale blush in Sidon’s bone-white cheeks for sure now, not Link’s imagination at all. “O-Oh,” he says, and nods, a little stiff. “Okay! That’s fine!” His blush deepens at his own casual language, and Link suddenly wants to smooth the flush away with his fingers. Or his mouth. His blush is so pale, skin thicker than Link’s own. Would it still feel warm under Link’s fingers? 

He hopes the sun is a logical excuse for his own red cheeks as he scurries after Sidon back under the pergola. 

This map isn’t fancy or complicated. Sidon marks out roads and, lightly, topography, labels bridges and settlements, including ruins like Goponga Village and the Shadow Hamlet. He marks out Inogo Bridge with careful measurements as he compares the old map and the Sheikah Slate, murmuring to himself. He indicates broad changes in topography with dashed lines of his pen and blind hatching using one of his unblunted claws--the lowest land unmarked, middle elevations a neat hatch, and crosshatching for the highest points. His narration is quiet and soothing, sweetly mellow, and Link settles on the bed, on his stomach, instead of one of the stools, for a better vantage point of Sidon’s face as he works, a line furrowed just beneath his browridge, lips pursed. He watches Sidon, letting the scratch of his pen against the parchment, his low conversation as he talks to himself, the sound of the lake sloshing against the dock, his own breath, lull him into a content daze. 

He jerks when Sidon chuckles. He’d barely noticed his eyes starting to drift shut, but the afternoon has mostly passed, the sun beginning to lower behind the cliffs. 

“I’ve finished up,” he says patiently, his tone suggesting he’s said it before and Link didn’t notice. “Shall we head back?” He’s folded the paper map and put it away, only the parchment laid out, only a little of the ink still shiny and wet, pounce glimmering on its surface. It’s a passable map, the far east border of it stretching from Skull Lake down along the foothills of Death Mountain, the Shadow Hamlet ruins to the Maw and then along the Hylia River, catching its oxbow around the Crenel Hills and following it down until it drains into Lake Hylia. Deep Akkala and Faron aren’t heavily mapped--Sidon’s forgone topography and landmarks there to mark out rivers, roads, and settlements only, but Lanayru, most of Necluda, and the Lake Akkala region are more deeply marked. The roads and bridges around Zora’s Domain are labeled with a smooth, even hand that seems too small for someone as large as Sidon to write. In the southwestern corner, where the Faron woods would be, he’s labeled _Northeastern Hyrule,_ and a compass rose and scale, along with the date, in the same style as the old map he’d brought along. 

“It’s not fancy, but it’s more than we’ve had since Ruta,” Sidon says apologetically. 

Link shakes his head. _It’s more than I could do,_ he signs. Swallows the extra spit in his mouth and says, “It’s amazing, Sidon. Truly.” 

Sidon coughs, almost as though he choked on something, and ducks his head, picking up his pencils and silver-tipped pens and straightedge and corking the inkwell. He brushes his fingertips across the damp spot of ink, and when they pull away clean, loads the stones and inkwell back into his bag as well, rolling the map up and tying it with a leather thong. 

“We’ll put it up in the archiving room,” Sidon says. “Shall we head back?” 

\--

The archive above the throne room, in the belly of the enormous Lord Jabu-Jabu that rests above Zora’s Domain, seems like it should be stuffy, but in reality it feels more like a grotto, well-ventilated through the floor and clever vents tucked underneath Lord Jabu-Jabu’s scales, where rainwater can’t make it in. It’s not even overly damp; Sidon points out a place in the great shaft that stretches into Lake Ruto below them where they run a water wheel that powers a fan to keep the air moving inside. Even after the sun beating on it all day, it’s still cool inside, a large round room with four or five smaller doors off of the ladder entrance, above the back of the throne room. 

“My father grew too large to come up here not long after ascending the throne,” Sidon says, “But the rest of the council and I still do our administrative work up here, and Laflat has an office as well.” He smiles as he pulls Link up the last few rungs of the ladder like Link weighs next to nothing. “Not that it’s commonly used--we don’t prefer to be in spaces so enclosed for too long, though this is far better than some.” It doesn’t feel much different than some of the caverns of the Royal Family’s private baths and and the guestrooms behind the falls, actually. It’s quiet, high enough from the bustle of the Domain proper that the waterfalls are the loudest sounds, and Link didn’t get a chance to see it in the morning, waylaid by Dorephan for updates on the Divine Beasts and some of the other settlements while Sidon fetched what he needed. He’s somewhat enchanted by the strange and absurd shelving—stone tablets more than a meter square in sliding fittings along one side of the room, a number of clamshells as large as the circle of Link’s arms in shelves carved with round stone divots for each individual shell, and more traditional bookshelves, though most of them are larger than Link’s familiar with. 

“The Clams are the Zora’s preferred method of storing records,” Sidon says, and reaches for a smaller one, holding it. Even in his arms it seems overlarge, and he holds it out to Link. The clamshell has been fitted with a Zora-silver clasp, and the natural hinge has been replaced with one that has the usual delicate filigree. “Do you want to open it?”

Link unhooks the clasp, and pushes the lid of the Clam open to reveal a number of shards of obsidian, flaked off a larger piece and then trimmed carefully to the shape of the clam. Each has been inscribed--when Link looks more closely, he can see Zoran script, along with an older Hylian he knows of but can’t read, and the familiar modern Hylian. It looks like--”Budgets?” he says, glancing up at Sidon. 

Sidon laughs. “You see why we switched to Hylian methods,” he says. “We do have some books that have been waxed and are mostly waterproof--Laflat gets them, because she is the one usually writing quickly while she moves around the Domain--but the Clams were a lot of work for reports how many fish we traded for rice with Hateno in a given year. Hylian books take up less space and stack together nicely, too. The monuments around the Domain are a part of our archive, as well--you can see our oldest records are on tablets that are similar, and we still use Clams for marriages, treaties, major trade agreements, and the like, but we switched to wax tablets, paper or parchment for the more day-to-day records. Of course, paper and parchment aren’t waterproof, and wax is supposed to be ephemeral anyway. We have more Clams underwater; these are only some of the most important ones. This one isn’t just budgets; it also includes a trade agreement between the Zora and the Hylians.” 

It’s more beautiful than any book Link’s seen, and for just budget records and a trade agreement. The edges of the obsidian shards are sharp, and he’s careful as he sets it back down and closes the Clam, latching it. _Thanks for showing me_ , he signs, and Sidon grins at him as he puts it away. 

“It’s a bit of a delight that it interests you at all,” Sidon says. “Most Zora find the archives incredibly dull.” 

Link pulls out the slate to type. _I’m a lot less discriminating than most people. A girl in Hateno, Koyin—she says I’m nosy._ He shows the slate to Sidon, who laughs outright. 

“You do have this way of…” He opens the door to his office, which is littered with wax tablets and neat, albeit numerous, piles of paper and books. “Hmm. Someone will ask you for a favor, and you’ll act like it’s a big deal, and yet you always do it. You act like you don’t like being in people’s business, and yet every time you come back here you bring Ledo more luminous stones. You found Mei and sent her back here from Lake Hylia. You brought Finley’s letter to the apparent love of her life.” He grins a little at Link, cheeky. “Miss Koyin of Hateno might be right.” He lays the rolled map on the small table near the door, unloads the inkwell, pen, and straightedge and compass into a drawer in his desk, and then stops still. Link, composing a retort on the slate, doesn’t notice his stillness at first. 

He looks up when Sidon’s been quiet a beat too long. “Sidon?” His voice cracks, raw in his throat.

Sidon swallows, reaches into the drawer and slams it shut, turning to grin too brightly at Link. “I almost forgot,” he says. “I have a gift for you.”

Link’s head jerks up. _For me?_

Sidon’s cheeks are that pale pink color again, and it’s fetching, softening his handsome features. “I’m not as well trained as most Zora, and certainly not as skilled as Ledo or Dento, but we all learn a little bit of lapidary,” he says, and opens his palm. There’s a small pendant in it, not quite the length of Link’s thumb, attached to a delicate wheat chain. It’s silver, of course, with a luminous stone set in it, enough silver woven across the top of the stone so it only glows gently. Tucked under his shirt, it wouldn’t glow at all. 

“I noticed you don’t carry a lantern like most Hylian travelers do,” Sidon says. “I thought this might be helpful.” He picks up the pendant with his claws and turns it over. Other than the silver setting around the edge of the stone, the flat back of the pendant is open, and the luminous stone glows, surprisingly bright. 

“You m-made this?” Link says, tongue thick in his mouth but hands too busy reaching for the necklace to sign. It’s lighter than he expects, but solid, the same slight-but-sturdy weight as the armor Mipha made for him. 

“It’s fairly crude, as these things go,” Sidon says apologetically. “But it should be quite sturdy.”

If this is crude, Link wonders what something refined would look like. Certainly, it’s simpler than the tiny beads on the Lightscale Trident, or the work on his armor, but it’s as beautiful as that, and as Isha’s circlets and earrings in Gerudo Town. 

“It should be just the right length,” Sidon says, and sure enough, it fits over Link’s head just barely; he has to smush his ears, but not his nose, to pull it down. He tucks it into his tunic and shift, and it settles against his breastbone, cool on his skin. Sure enough, the light of the stone can’t be seen beneath the fabric of his tunic and shirt. “That way you can take it off if you need to hold it, or turn it around so you can wear it for the light.” He shrugs, shoulders slumped. “It’s not much, but—“ 

“Not _much_?” Link’s mouth says before he can control it. 

Sidon’s cheeks darken. “I can’t—“ He swallows. “I can’t go with you, though I dearly wish I could,” he says softly. “I have responsibilities here, and if the legends are right, these are tasks you have to do yourself, anyway. But still. It’s dangerous to go alone. Take this, and know that Zora’s Domain is always at your side.”

Link’s hands tremble. “Si—“ he starts, and makes the sign that stands for _Sidon_ instead, because it’s one-handed, but his hand is shaking. He clenches his other fist around the pendant. He blinks furiously. 

“Is it all right?” Sidon says anxiously, and Link nods so hard his ponytail bounces. Sidon relaxes, an almost shy smile dawning on his face. “Oh, I’m so glad.” 

“Thank you,” Link whispers, hands shaking too much to sign or use the slate. “It’s b-beautiful.” 

“You’re welcome,” Sidon says, voice low and warm, and folds his hands loosely around Link’s. Link meets his eyes, and Sidon’s gaze is so open and nonthreatening and Link is well-rested, and for once it doesn’t hurt. His eyes are beautiful. 

Sidon’s face floods with even more pink than before. “L-link?” he says, and looks away first (looks away first!). 

Wait. Link opens his mouth but Sidon gets there first. “Y-you said my eyes were beautiful,” he says, still looking at Link’s shoulder instead of his face. 

“Sorry,” Link whispers. His ears are hot. His neck is hot. His face is hot. Sidon’s face is so soft and his mouth is so sharp, and the contrast is pleasing. Link’s stomach is rolling. 

“You meant it, right?” Sidon says. Link nods again. “Then you don’t have to apologize. If you meant it.” 

“ _All_ of you is beautiful,” Link says, and Sidon’s pretty black-rimmed gold eyes go wide. His cheeks are almost the color of his browridge. 

“Thank you,” Sidon says, very quietly. His face is very close to Link. He must be bent in half to be so close to him. His lips are the same color as the skin of his face, but this close they look full and plush. 

“You’re welcome,” Link says, more mouthing the words than speaking them. But Sidon is watching him closely enough to know what he’s said. 

“You’re beautiful too,” Sidon says, still hushed. He reaches up to touch a lock of Link’s hair. Link shuts his eyes. “No!” he says, louder, and Link flinches. “Sorry. No, really,” he insists, lowering his voice. 

_Thanks_ , Link signs into his hands. Sidon’s browridge bumps his forehead. Link knew they were close but not that close. When he opens his eyes again, Sidon’s watching him. He’s so big and so gentle and Link _likes_ him. 

“Link,” Sidon breathes, and his breath gusts across Link’s mouth. 

_Sorry,_ Link signs into Sidon’s hands, and before Sidon can decipher it or ask why, squeezes his eyes shut and presses his lips to Sidon’s. 

Sidon’s mouth is parted in surprise. He’s warmer than Link expected, lips cool but the inside of his mouth hot. 

Link sits motionless for a moment, uncertain, but Sidon _sighs_ , lips curving against Link’s, and he curls one hand around Link’s waist, pressing back into Link’s mouth. 

For a moment all Link can think is, _he’s so big._ Sidon’s thumb is almost at Link’s navel, and the rest of his hand stretches to his spine. His mouth opens against Link’s, tongue darting out to taste, and Link gasps and pulls away. 

Sidon wraps his other hand around Link’s waist. His hands touch. Link likes the way it feels, the weight of Sidon’s hands against his ribcage, how he feels small and tightly held. His heart is pounding. 

“Link?” Sidon says. 

Was that okay, Link mouths. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Sidon says, the word almost tripping out of his mouth. “Yes, Link, I like you _so_ much, I’ve wanted to kiss you for—for a while, I didn’t dare hope but—“ Link cuts him off and pushes in to kiss him again, harder this time, one hand curving around Sidon’s scarred earfin, and Sidon’s hands tighten on his waist. His mouth opens under Link’s before he’s lifting Link up, like Link weighs nothing, pulling him in, and Link presses his legs against Sidon’s ribs--Sidon’s too big for him to wrap them around him--and sweeps his tongue into Sidon’s mouth, forgetting about his teeth until he feels the prick of them on the underside of his tongue. Sidon pulls back, mouth downturned in worry even as his pupils dilate, and Link tastes blood. 

“S’fine,” Link says, a little desperately, clenching his hands around Sidon’s neck. “Please, ‘s fine you c’n I don’t mind you can b-bite—”a babbled mess of words, but this time it’s Sidon who kisses him, who stuffs his tongue into Link’s mouth until Link feels as though he might swallow it and squeezes his hands around Link’s ribs. His saliva feels slicker than Link’s, and his mouth is so big moving against Link’s, wet and warm and his lips as plush as they looked, and Link’s mouth is open so wide for Sidon’s tongue, and he tastes like clean sweat, his smell in Link’s nose something salty and grassy and fresh, like a breeze coming in from the sea in Upland Zorana. Link sucks on Sidon’s tongue, and Sidon makes this strange huffing growl in the back of his throat. One of his hands splays across Link’s back, almost wide enough to stretch from one side to the other, and the other comes up to sink into his hair, to change the angle a little, and a tooth catches on Link’s lower lip, sinking in enough to draw blood.

It hurts but it’s bright sweet burst of pain against the warm weight of Sidon holding him, his tongue in Link’s mouth, and Sidon growls again, pulling back far enough that he can take Link’s lower lip between his own lips and _suck_ , tongue flicking against the wound, and Link _moans_ , high and shocked in the back of his throat. There’s saliva on his chin, enough that it starts to roll down his neck; Sidon’s lips are shiny with it, and Link pushes back in to taste them. He wants to choke on Sidon’s tongue until he’s drooling with it. 

Sidon hitches him up higher against him, hands coming to hold his ass up high enough Link’s leaning down to kiss him. “Gillsh,” he mumbles against Link’s mouth, pulling away a little to add, “They’re delicate,” and Link hooks an arm around his neck and tips Sidon’s face up to kiss him again, messy, opening his mouth wide again for Sidon’s tongue. 

Link probably kissed people before (Maybe? Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was too busy or too anxious or too focused. He hardly knows who he is _now_ , let alone the Link-that-was), but he has no memory of the process. Still, though, he’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to be this messy or this clumsy, or that he’s supposed to _enjoy_ it so much despite that. Sidon’s teeth keep catching him, and Link _likes_ each little sharp prick, wants Sidon to bite _hard_ even though he knows it’s probably unwise. Likes biting _Sidon_ , even if he can’t draw blood, likes the way Sidon shivers under him when he pulls back to gasp and Link follows him and sinks his teeth into Sidon’s lower lip, likes the wet slide of Sidon’s mouth, so much warmer inside than his skin. Likes Sidon’s smile when their teeth click together, the way he laughs but can’t stop kissing Link, the way his hands tighten against Link’s ass, but he’s careful with his claws, holding Link with as much care as he does with everything smaller than him. The way he tastes, even with a hint of residual fishiness from the Staminoka Bass he ate in the afternoon. The little sounds coming from deep in his throat, sounds Link doesn’t think he could produce even if he wanted to. The sounds _Link_ himself is making, sounds he can’t stop or control, hitching little whines that maybe should be embarrassing, but Link can’t find it in himself to be ashamed. Why should he feel bad about kissing Sidon? About liking to kiss Sidon? When Sidon is so warm and solid under him, holding him up, when he wants it just as much as Link does? 

“Prince Sidon?” Laflat says from the foot of the ladder up to the archives, and they jump apart, Sidon nearly dropping Link when Link shoves him back, only Link’s quick reflexes keeping him from falling over when he drops to the ground. 

“Yes!” Sidon says breathlessly, adjusting his aigrette and cravat. Link’s face and neck are soaked with their saliva, and half his hair has fallen out of his ponytail. He yanks the leather tie out of his hair entirely, and wipes his face with his tunic. “I’m up here, Laflat.” 

He sounds put together, but he doesn’t look it; his face is still almost red, and his shoulder and arm fins are ruffled. At some point, Link yanked at the blue sash he wears hard enough that it’s slid down his shoulder, knocking off one of his spaulders. Link didn’t even hear it clatter to the ground, but when he looks around he can see it skittered across the room, almost to the Clam shelves.

“Bazz is asking for you,” Laflat calls up. “It’s not urgent, but he’d like me to let him know when you’ll be free.” Sidon is yanking the sash back up in place.

Sidon squints at the light through the almost translucent luminous stone that makes up the scales of Lord Jabu-Jabu. “Maybe twilight?” he calls down. He’s patting his bare shoulder. Link points to the spaulder on the floor, and they exchange flustered glances. 

“Thanks, your highness,” Laflat says, and murmurs something to the King as she leaves, and they hear his rumbling laugh from beneath them. 

Sidon’s cheeks, still flushed, darken at the sound, and Link suddenly realizes how close they are to what is technically public; to where Sidon’s _father_ is sitting, and ducks his head. Reaches for his slate. _Sorry,_ he inputs, but before he can type anything else Sidon cups one of his hands around the back of his head, tipping his face up. 

“ _Don’t_ apologize unless you regret it,” he says quietly. “I am the one who knew exactly what sort of public space this is, and lost my composure.” Even his _lips_ are pink, bitten and swollen from Link’s blunt little teeth, still shiny with spit, and Link reaches up to touch his lower lip before reaching for the slate again. _You’re not the only one,_ he types out.

Sidon laughs, a little strained. “No,” he says, and runs his fingers through Link’s hair, almost transfixed for a moment before his gaze snaps back to Link’s face. “ _I_ don’t regret anything,” he says. “Do--do you?”

Link shakes his head. _I wanted to,_ he inputs into the slate. Takes a breath, and adds, _I want to again. Someplace more private next time._

Sidon swallows as he reads the tablet, and then snorts, lips quirking up. There’s a hint of fang visible on one side of his smile, and Link can feel his ears heat up. “I agree,” Sidon says, and bends himself in half to press a quick, almost shy kiss to the lower third of Link’s face. His fingers are still in Link’s hair. “Can I h-help? With your hair? It’s so--soft. And strange. And beautiful.” 

Link fan feel his blush intensifying at the compliment, but Sidon’s hands feel good, and he fingercombs Link’s mussed hair out with only a few instructions from Link. He struggles to gather it all for the ponytail, so Link finally, laughing, does it himself, showing Sidon how he holds all his hair in one hand, fisting it together. 

“That’s amazing,” Sidon says, as though Link has just slain a lynel. 

“‘S hair,” Link mutters as he ties his ponytail. 

“ _Hair_ is _amazing_ ,” Sidon says fervently, which makes Link laugh as he turns around to face him. Sidon smoothes Link’s bangs with the pads of his fingers. “You are amazing,” he says, more quietly. 

“ _You_ are,” Link says, clasping Sidon’s arms, the cat-tongue skin sparking against his fingers before pulling away. _Amazing_ , he signs. _Beautiful._

“Link,” Sidon hisses, and bends over to kiss him again, just as quickly. “I need to go meet Bazz.” Link’s stomach rumbles, and they smile at each other. “And you should eat something.” 

Link nods. _Should go to Robbie’s tomorrow,_ he signs. _Then I have to get a scale from Dinraal. And then back to the Spring of Power._

“They say there’s a good place to see Dinraal west of Deep Akkala,” Sidon says, heading over to get the spaulder Link knocked off his shoulder. “I’ve never been--elixirs don’t work well for us, so anytime we’ve talked with the Gorons they’ve come to us. But I’ve heard that north of Death Mountain there’s a Leviathan skeleton, and Dinraal comes very close to the earth there.” He finishes affixing it to his gorget, and starts down the ladder. “Where will you go afterwards?” 

Link hums. He’s run out of words for the day, the sudden shock of elation sucking him dry. His tongue feels heavy, his lips sore from Sidon’s teeth. His mouth feels molded in the shape of Sidon’s, and even if he could speak, he’s not ready to lose that sensation. He leans over the ladder, so Sidon, still looking up at him, can see him. _Rito,_ he signs. _Medoh._

“Mipha and my father have been to Rito Village before,” Sidon says from below him, as Link starts down the ladder. “And Hebra. It’s cold there.” Link’s only been once so far, scouting mostly, but nods in agreement. “Mipha and my father both gained blubber for the trip, and then wore sealskin clothing on top. I was furious I couldn’t go.” Link can hear his smile. “We haven’t been able to travel since the Calamity because of the monsters, and some of the water on the way there is contaminated now, but--I’d love to go someday.”

Link hops off the ladder. _After,_ he signs, and bites his lip. Looks at Sidon’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to think about the way Sidon was watching his mouth. _After I--we--Once Ganon is defeated and Zelda is back, I’ll take you._ When Ganon is defeated. Not if. If Sidon can believe it’s a certainty, so can Link. 

Sidon grins at him, so widely and freely Link wants to kiss him again, but they’re in the back of the throne room and Dorephan is chuckling at them. “Master Link, are you promising my son a trip?”

They come around to the front of the throne room, and Link sketches a bow. _When we take back Hyrule Castle,_ he signs, and Dorephan laughs again. 

“I am sure you’ll be a better travel companion than I am these days,” he says. “You will have to give him advance notice, though—us Zora need a month or two to put on the blubber we need to stay warm in Hebra and Tabantha. None of this showing up and whisking him away like you do!” 

“ _Father_ ,” Sidon says, with fond exasperation. “I have to meet Bazz, and I’m sure Link is hungry.”

“Don’t let this old man keep you,” Dorephan says, and shoos them out. 

There’s still a hint of orange in the western sky as they emerge, so Sidon’s estimate of _twilight_ was not far off. Halfway down the throne room steps, where they can’t be seen by any of the Zora in the communal sleeping pools, Sidon stops him. “I’m not sure how long Bazz will keep me,” he says, “And I’m sure you’ll want an early night tonight. If you finish dinner before I’m done, Laflat will be happy to take you back to the guest room where you slept last night so you can have a little more peace and quiet.”

Link nods, shooting him a grateful smile.

“I know you’re usually an early riser,” Sidon continues. “If I don’t see you in the morning…” he gently runs a claw along the chain of Link’s necklace. “Please know I wish you nothing but safety and comfort in your travels, and I hope this serves as a small reminder.” 

Reminder? Link mouths at him.

Sidon leans in and presses his browridge to Link’s forehead. He’s several steps lower than Link, so while he’s still taller it’s only by half a meter or so. “That you’re not lost,” he says, so quietly Link himself barely hears it, and he curls one hand around Sidon’s earfin to pull him in for a kiss, sweet and lingering. 

Thank you, he mouths, pressing the shape of the words into Sidon’s mouth before pulling away. 

Sidon smiles at him, pointy teeth sunk into his lower lip almost shyly. “If I don’t see you in the morning—“ he says again, but Link stops him.

 _I’ll come back after I get a scale from Dinraal_ , he signs. _I’ll want to prepare more food, before I head to the Spring of Power. So I’ll be back in a few days._

“Oh!” Sidon says, smile widening. “That’s soon! Well. I’ll be here, so. You’re always welcome. I—I look forward to it.” 

_Me too_ , Link signs, and has to trot down the stairs to the inn before he can do something foolish like kiss Sidon again. He touches the luminous stone pendant under his tunic, its shape softly rounded to fit in his palm. It’s warmed to his body temperature, feeling almost alive under his hand. Sidon made it for him, and offered it to him, and _kissed_ him, and is waiting for him. Not just waiting for the hero to defeat Ganon, the way everyone else is. Waiting for _him_ , for Link-that-is. Waiting for him to come back in a few days, after he’s done chasing a dragon, which seems like a big enough task to focus on for now. 

Link will go, and he’ll come back. Then he can take it from there. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! (extra appreciated given this end note is obnoxiously long rip!)
> 
> Fun fact: the Sheikah text inside each of the beacons for the pins you can drop in-game reads “it’s dangerous to go alone.” 
> 
> For those of you who have read Creating a Champion, I took some liberties, mainly that the non-Hylian races contributed soldiers beyond the Champions for the day of Calamity, and that there were Zora settlements in Lanayru outside of Zora’s Domain prior to the Calamity. 
> 
> The sign language used in this fic does not represent a real-world sign language! I imagine the sign language used in Hyrule in this fic to be a [village sign language,](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Village_sign_language) which develops when a (often indigenous) population has a significant number of congenital deaf/hoh people and is used by both hearing and deaf/hoh people and often incorporated into mainstream life. Village sign languages are usually hyper-local and are typically unrelated to standardized sign languages like ASL, BSL, etc. A fairly famous historical example is Martha’s Vineyard Sign Language (though many of its signs were actually incorporated into ASL!), and a modern example is Kata Kolok. If you're curious about village sign languges, [here](https://www.purdue.edu/tislr10/pdfs/Zeshan%20significance%20villageSL%20no%20video.pdf) is a power point presentation discussing several examples as well as some ways they vary linguistically from standardized sign languages and also each other! 
> 
> Hyrule is actually a pretty big place, as far as distance goes, for a village sign language, so I imagine there has been some standardization as well as regional dialects. 
> 
> All that being said, I’m a mostly verbal hearing autistic person who only knows very basic signs! When I’m nonverbal I rely mostly on apps on my phone, and can almost always still read written text (I have an app with pictograms but rarely need to use it). The rest of Link's autistic symptoms and thought patterns are drawn largely from my own experiences. 
> 
> I don’t know where the Sidon blushes blue thing came from, since sharks are largely red-blooded and baby Sidon in the DLC has pink cheeks, so I elected to ignore it (but also if you’re into that LIVE YOUR TRUTH).
> 
> You can find me [@bokglobulia](http://twitter.com/bokglobulia) on twt and posting updates and occasionally other shit as [nebulia](http://nebulia.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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